


Ice Will Suffice

by theMightyPen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Mentions of Character Death, Multi, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theMightyPen/pseuds/theMightyPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some say the world will end in fire,<br/>Some say in ice.<br/>From what I’ve tasted of desire<br/>I hold with those who favor fire.<br/>But if it had to perish twice,<br/>I think I know enough of hate<br/>To say that for destruction ice<br/>Is also great<br/>And would suffice.</p>
<p>The war is finally over and once again a Targaryen sits on the Iron Throne, but the game of thrones is not quite over yet, and players still move about the board; some for vengeance, some for love, and some for something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Mermaid In Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> Futurefic!, assuming Daenerys is now Queen of Westeros, Jon is Rhaegar and Lyanna's son and did not die on the Wall, Aegon is a Targaryen, and the Others have been vanquished and the realm has not dissolved into general chaos.

THE MERMAID

The longer she stood there, alone in the silence, the more it seemed to her that she could hear the crash of the waves echoing inside the hall. Familiar painted creatures swum around her; the huge shark on the left wall she had named "Wylhem" in her youth, the eel that had always frightened her during thunderstorms and if she squinted, she could just make out the battling kraken and leviathan in the dim light. These creatures had been her companions as a child, each one a friend she had given life to as she pretended to swim through the Merman's Court when all the courtiers had left for the day. She had imagined herself a mermaid then, a sea nymph of unsurpassed beauty and terrible power, so very different from the scrawny slip of a girl with lack-luster blonde hair and a high thin voice. She would make believe that she was queen of the ocean, ruler of all the sea creatures, from the mighty whale to the tiniest shrimp. But, unlike the haughty Lannister Queen (for even the people of White Harbor knew that Cersei would never be anything but) or the last, tragic Targaryen Queen, she was a just Queen, a helpful Queen, one who listened to her subjects (however pretend they might have been) and did her best to solve their problems.

It was the reason she had, at age eleven, dyed her hair green on a whim. To be a true mermaid Queen she would have to look the part, and that included having hair the color of seaweed and only ever wearing varying shades of blue dresses. She smiled at the memory of her mother's shriek at discovering her youngest daughter dumping a bottle of green dye over her head. The resulting disastrous color had become her most recognizable trait, though now, bowing to the wishes of her family, she had allowed the color to soften from seaweed to sea foam (which could nearly be blonde, if one squinted and she was outside and it was a particularly bright day).

She was shaken from her reverie by her sister's voice echoing in the large room.

"Don't go."

Wylla Manderly turned and gave her sister a soft look. "You know I must."

"Let Harry go in your place! He is a Lord, a Northman—"

"And a Karstark." Wylla said calmly. "I must do this, sister, for our family. Harry, for all his honor and strength, cannot represent the Lords of White Harbor as he is not one of them." She paused, giving Wynafryd a significant look. "And he is your husband, sister. Would you send him away with such ease?"

Wynafryd glared back at her. "You know I love him, Wylla. Gods know I do, but I love you as well! Harry is fierce and brave and strong—"

Wylla gave a merry smirk. "Am I not? Sometimes I think you hardly know me at all."

"When was the last time you fought a battle?" Wynafryd hissed, unamused. "Or killed a man?"

"I wasn't aware that a diplomatic meeting at our liege lord's castle would be so dangerous—"

"This is not a laughing matter, sister! The Starks are not securely back in power. With every remaining Northern house represented, there are bound to be quarrels! The new Lord Stark is hardly more than a boy…and still there are those who think that this plan of bending of the knee to the Targaryens is a hideous insult to his family's memory!"

"He has been beyond the Wall, Fred. He is not some green boy, playing at being a Lord and dreaming of tournaments. If what you say is true, and there are those who doubt Brandon Stark's ability to lead, he will need a faithful supporter more than ever."

Wynafryd gave a great sigh and covered her eyes with her hands. Wylla pushed a lock of her green hair out of her eyes and took her sister's hands in her own. "I do not want to leave you, Fred, but I must do this. For you, for the Starks, for the North! But most importantly…for Grandpapa. He has asked me to do this and I cannot deny him. Not now, not when he is so ill."

"More reason why you should not go!" Wynafryd cried. "Grandpapa…his mind, it hasn't been the same since the Bastard of Bolton, it wanders—"

"His mind wanders?" Wylla said in an icy tone. "His? Grandpapa may be old and dying, sister, but even now, he is not weak minded. Perhaps you have forgotten the business with the Freys, the plot to which you were privy to whilst I remained in the dark; that was not the work of a weak minded man."

"That was years ago! He is not the same as he was then…and, Gods be good Wylla, how can you still you rage at me for knowing something you did not? How could we have told you the true plan? I could never have lived with myself if you knew—if you had seen!" She stopped, her fingers tightening around Wylla's. "I wanted to spare you…you were a child, a fifteen year-old child!" Wynafryd insisted.

"I am no longer fifteen." Wylla spoke, her voice deadly calm. "And have not been so for some time. Kindly stop treating me as such."

Wynafryd opened her mouth to retort when both sisters froze as the sound of a throat being cleared met their ears. They turned to see their father slowly approaching them. Age and his time imprisoned in Harrenhal had drained some of the fat off Wylis Manderly's bones and though he was still larger than most men, he was a shadow when compared to his father. There were obvious circles under his eyes and he moved slowly, despite his weight loss. He had never divulged what had happened during his time as a captive of the Lannisters and it seemed he never would. He reached his daughters, his piercing blue eyes flickering from one to the other.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"How can you allow him to send her, your precious mer-girl, to that-that council of death!" Wynafryd asked, whirling to face her father.

Wylis ignored the flash of anger in Wylla's eyes and turned instead to his eldest daughter and touched her cheek gently. "Lord Stark has asked for representation from all the houses, child. Would you have me refuse our liege lord at this, his hour of need?"

"Why not Harry—"

"Harry is a Karstark, as are you now, Wynafryd." Wylis said wearily, rubbing his eyes. "Would you have him leave you now, in your condition?" Wynafryd flushed, and rested a hand on her just-swelling stomach. Her father continued, "You and he will return to Karhold. His place is there, as is yours, helping to rebuild it. Your grandfather is too ill to go, I am too tired to fight with the unyielding zeal of younger men, you are married and expecting; Wylla is the only suitable choice. Not only that, but she will do the most good for the young Lord Stark; she will be both a true friend and loyal ally, something he will sorely need."

Wylla flushed at her father's compliment and looked away as he smiled softly at her. Wylis reached out to her and took both her hands in his.  
"And your mother will roll her grave as I say this, I am more glad than ever that you have remained unmarried, as you, unlike dear Wynafryd, have nothing to hold you here, except for the love of two foolish old men and a sister."

Wylla's eyes filled with tears. "That is hardly nothing, Father."

"It is when compared to the orders of a liege-lord." Wylis drew her close to him and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You have always been brave, daughter of mine, brave and stubborn and sweet. Winterfell is not White Harbor; these men will know nothing of you except your family name and who your grandfather is. You must prove yourself to them. Give your mind rule over your heart; they will look for reasons to call your judgment into question because of your youth and because you are a woman. Temper your sweetness with logic, but do not be afraid to stand up for what you believe in. They will respect you for it. Have faith in Lord Stark, have faith in yourself. But never forget: there are ghosts in Winterfell, my child. And they are always looking for company."

Wynafryd choked back a protest and Wylla felt her stomach drop at her father's words and she hid a small gulp.

You can do this, Wylla Manderly. Remember what you are fighting for, who you are fighting for, what you're protecting.

She vividly recalled having to tolerate the Freys and their horrid lies about the late King in the North, her father's initial appearance after his return from Harrenhal, the loss of nearly all of her childhood boy-friends. She must be loyal to the remaining Starks; they and their family had paid for the North with their blood and their happiness.

"I won't fail you, Father."

Wylis managed a tight smile. "I know you won't." He turned away from them, looking around the great Court. "It seems only yesterday I would find the two of you in here, dreaming of fish and handsome sailors to steal you away…"

Wynafryd and Wylla exchanged a look, and the younger shook her head. "No, that’s not how it was at all. We always played the mermaid. And a sailor, handsome or no, cannot catch a mermaid."

"And what do mermaids do to sailors that try to catch them?"

Wylla looked away, and thought of the Freys, of pie, of her grandfather's horrid nickname, of the trials her family, her friends, and her home had faced during the long war. She looked back at the kraken and leviathan, at the starfish beneath her feet, at the eels and the octopods and the sharks swimming in the painted deep.

All of them bow to the power of the merman.

With that thought in mind, she raised her head with her answer.

"They eat them, Father."

Wylis smiled and pulled her into an embrace, nearly smothering her against the still-great girth of his belly. "Never forget that, my mer-girl."

 

The night before her departure, Wylla sat at her window, gazing out at her beloved sea. The chill did not bother her, though winter was in full force and most places north of the Neck were blanketed with snow and horribly cold. She would risk the cold for her favorite sound of sea meeting shore. She had fallen asleep to the roar of the ocean for eighteen years, save for the nights she had spent visiting her sister at Karhold. She would miss the rhythmic sound of the crashing waves, as familiar to her as the heartbeat of an old friend.

Winterfell is supposed to be the jewel of the North! Home to the great Godswood, surrounded by forests, with rooms heated from springs below…I should be happy to go there, to be of use to my liege lord.

She paused, closing her eyes to appreciate the sound.

But it shan't be like New Castle. Not like home.

The door to her room creaked open and Wylla jumped. Wex stood in the doorway, grinning at her.

"Not funny Wex! You know I hate being snuck up on!"

The boy gave a shrug and ambled into the room, throwing himself casually into her desk chair. It had been there, after the whole business with Ser Davos of rescuing Rickon Stark from Skagos, that she had taught him his letters and words. After he had learned enough to carry on a conversation (albeit on paper), he had declared himself a squire to House Manderly, eager to repay all that they had given him. More so than that, Wex was her very closest friend, one whom she trusted above all others (sometimes even more so than Fred, especially since her sister had married). He drew out paper and a quill (which she kept at her desk at all times, specifically for these visits). He scribbled something and then held it out for her to read.

'Are you ready to go?'

"I'm not sure, Wex…I'm a little frightened."

Wex's eyebrow raised, nearly disappearing into his dark mop of hair. 'You, frightened? You stood up to murdress Freys in front of the intire cort! What could frighten you, mermaid?'

Wylla stifled a grin and reached over and corrected the words he had misspelled before answering. Wex stuck his tongue out at her, and she gave him a small shove. He underlined the last sentence he had written and raised his eyebrows. Wylla sighed, running a hand over her face. "I have never gone this far from White Harbor before…Winterfell is different from everything I know, far from my family, far from the sea…What if I come off as stupid? As a silly little girl who knows nothing of war, and even less of how to live life after one?"

'You are not stupid, Wylla. You are brave and kind and good. Even jaded lords will see that.'

She smiled and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Wex."

'And b'sides, he wrote, a wry grin appearing on his face, you will have me there, to prevent you from doing anything foolish.'

Wylla gave a happy shriek. "You're coming with me? Truly?" Wex nodded, smiling. Wylla threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "I am so glad! I shan't be alone with all those noblemen who will look down their noses at me, not with you by my side!"

Wex's face had gone red the minute she had moved towards him, but now he managed a timid smile and reached for the paper again. Wylla released him and watched the quill fly over the paper as he wrote.

'I'm hardly likely to strike fear into any one,' Wex paused to gesture at his lanky frame, made even thinner by his sudden increase in height in the last year (he was now over six feet and towered over most men in White Harbor) causing Wylla to give a giggle, 'but if my presence will be a comfert to you, I am glad as well.'

"You know it is." She said, looking him directly in the eye (while he had shot up in the past year, she had not and was unlikely to ever be taller than her miniscule height of just past five feet, and as such they were nearly the same height while he was sitting down and she was standing), still holding tight to him. She looked up and smiled. "You're my dearest friend Wex, and I would be glad to have you with me always, especially since you know Winterfell much better than I."

His face fell. 'I would go wherever you asked of me, but I must admit I am loath to go back to that place. So much death happened there…I fear I will be followed by gosts wherever I go.'

Wylla unwound her arms from him and stepped back, placing her hands on her hips. "What happened to Theon Greyjoy was not your fault Wex. You were a boy; what more could you have done?"

'He deserved better than the fate he was born to. He was just a boy too, Wylla. A lost boy with no place in the world, whos family didn't care for him, who was just trying to leave a mark on something, anything.'

"You can't talk like that in Winterfell." Wylla said, shaking her head.

Wex's writing became jagged as he angrily wrote. 'I'm not talking, I'm writing. What are they going to do? Take the scribbles of a bastard squire from the Iron Islands?'

"They very well could! They will not understand…I don't care that you're ironborn, you're more than that to me, but Theon…he is still a turncloak to them."

'Hasn't he suffered enough? Isn't obvious he didn't kill the Stark boys, as one is the one calling us all there anyway, and the other is a terror whos trip to Skagos is known all over Westeros? All he did was try to make his father proud!'

"He killed people, Wex! And his father was Balon Greyjoy, who, from your own account, didn't care one lick about him! His tale is sad enough without adding your death to it. What does my grandfather always say? 'The North remembers.' They will always remember that the Starks raised him, that King Robb loved him, that they trusted him…and he repaid them with murdering people he'd known his whole life, by leaving the King in the North without the strength of the Iron Islands against the Lannisters. There is nothing you can say to them that will make them think better of him. Please, Wex, you'll get yourself in trouble by defending him…"

'He was my friend.'

"And you are mine." Wylla said.

Wex stopped writing, and looked up at her. Blue eyes pierced into brown and he gave an inaudible sigh. He gave a nod and watched as Wylla's shoulders relaxed.

"Please don't think I don't understand…I just can't see anything happen to you, and we Northerners, on the whole, are not known to be tolerant…"

'Don't. Don't lump yourself in with them.' Wex wrote viciously.' You are not the same. You forgive.'

Wylla gave him a weak smile. Wex rubbed his eyes, sinking back into the chair. She moved closer and stroked his hair. "You will need your rest; the journey north will be hard, especially in winter. Good night Wex."

He gave her a small smile in return.

She turned back to the window as the door closed behind him.

Farewell, sea.

She drew the thick shutter back over the window. She quickly changed into her sleeping gown (the chill she had ignored either had come back in full force) and climbed into her bed, swathing herself in her many furs. Trying to sleep, her mind was full of what might await her in Winterfell.

She had heard many tales of the new Lord Stark; despite being a cripple, he was the late King Robb in miniature, one of the bravest men in Westeros (he had, after all, gone Beyond the Wall with only a simple minded stable boy and two crannogmen as companions), a Warg, and an admirable leader as well.

However, this praise was tempered with her acquaintance with his younger brother; Rickon was wild and fierce, and had terrorized many a chambermaid in New Castle after his rescue (or abduction, if one listened to his side of the tale) by Ser Davos Seaworth. Rickon had grown to tolerate her, and would only mildly scowl and hiss at her attempts to manage him (sometimes, she could even make him smile), whereas he had loathed her mother, ignored her father, and tormented Wynafryd with mischievous delight. There was something so heartbreakingly sad about Rickon, because in his sweeter moments she saw the boy he might've been if Lord Eddard had never gone to King's Landing. She knew that when he returned to Winterfell at the end of the war she had been one of the few, if not the only one, sad to see him go.

If the elder brother is like the younger, I do not have much hope for this being a pleasant gathering of the Northern Houses. If they get the tiniest inkling that they're being snubbed or, Gods help us, treated rudely, all of the ghosts in Winterfell couldn't keep the Starks in control.  
With that thought, she leaned up, blew out her candle, and then drifted into sleep.

 

A few days later, she nearly cried in relief as Winterfell's stony gates rose into view.

"Almost there, milady." Ser Daniel Flint said, giving her a kind smile. Wylla managed to give him one in return, despite the aching pain in her back and legs. The snow had been too thick for a wheelhouse, so she had been forced to go the entire way on horseback. She generally enjoyed riding, but after six days in the saddle, she never wanted to see a horse again. Wex rode up beside her, laughing silently at her grimace.

"Oh, hush you smug squid, not all of us are used to travelling such distances."

Wex smirked, ignoring the disapproving look Ser Daniel was giving him. None of her grandfather's sworn knights understood their lady's attachment to the ironborn squire, and they still did not fully trust him. The gates were mercifully open, and the small White Harbor party rode inside. Ser Daniel helped her dismount. Wylla resisted the urge to throw herself on the snowy ground and kiss it. Another of her grandfather's knights offered her his arm as a swarm of stable boys descended upon them, leading their horses out of the cold. She looked around, absorbing the castle's great stone walls. It was clear parts had been recently rebuilt. On the walls lingered scorch marks, and the wooden structures looked scarcely more than a few months old. Still, it had an air of grandeur and majesty to it that White Harbor lacked.

This was a place of Kings, Wylla thought

The small group was approached by a pretty girl dressed warmly in brown furs. Her green eyes were warm and she smiled at all of them, before focusing in on Wylla.  
"Welcome to Winterfell, Lady Manderly."

Wylla was a little startled at being greeted so directly, but managed a smile all the same. "Thank you, Lady…?"

"Reed. As the snow is too thick, Lord Stark cannot greet you himself, but he would like to see you as soon as possible. If you will follow me, please."

Wylla exchanged a quick look with Ser Daniel, who nodded. The group followed their guide through the huge doors and into Winterfell's newly rebuilt Great Hall. Her grandfather had told her tales of how ruined it had been after the sacking of Winterfell, but it was clear that much masonry and effort had been put into restoring it to its former glory. Wylla felt extremely small and insignificant in the huge hall. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she realized her party was not alone. At large tables against the walls sat the other Northern lords and their underlings.

We are one of the last to arrive. Wylla realized with a jolt. Nearly all the other houses seemed to have someone already seated at the tables. There were only three other ladies acting as representation; Lady Jonella of House Cerwyn, who looked very disinterested, one of the many Ladies Mormont, who shot Wylla a wink, and Lady Dustin, whose shrewd eyes were sweeping every inch of the room with disdain. The rest who were watching her were men, and looked rather unenthusiastic about her presence. A huge man sat at the seat closest to the raised table of the Starks; Wylla could only assume that this was the Greatjon that she had heard so many tales about. And there, now directly in front of her, was Lord Stark himself.

In the hugeness of the Hall, Wylla was struck by just how small he seemed. Could this boy truly have gone beyond the Wall? He hardly looked old enough to wield a sword, let alone hold control over one of the more vast kingdoms in Westeros.

But then Brandon Stark turned his face towards hers, and she saw in a sudden rush how this could be the same boy reputed to be a Warg and the near-King in the North. It was all in his eyes, those strange, other-worldly eyes that flickered oddly between blue and green. In them she saw pain and intelligence and wisdom and strength, she saw beauty and terror and wondrous understanding, and most of all, she saw the North, from dangling dangerous icicles to the soft snow that hadn't been walked on yet. 

In that moment Wylla Manderly knew that she would do whatever this boy asked of her, not because he was a Stark or because he was her liege-lord, but because his eyes spoke more to her than anything had in her entire life.

She realized she must have been staring, for Wex nudged her and gave her a strange look. Blushing, she nearly ran into the Lady Reed as they came to a halt at the front of the Hall. The lady gave her a wry look over her shoulder before turning back to the front.

"My Prince, may I present Lady Wylla Manderly, representing White Harbor."

Wylla gave a curtsey and met his queer not quite blue, not quite green eyes.

"Welcome to Winterfell, my lady. Your seat is at the table directly to my-"

"Wylla!"

She was barely able to pinpoint where the voice was coming from before a blur of tangled hair and warm furs crashed into her. Arms wrapped around her waist in a tight embrace and as the Hall made noises behind her (some of surprise, some of distaste, some of amusement), she recognized just who was clinging to her.

"Hello to you too, Rickon."

The fierce little boy lifted his head and beamed up at her. "Meera told me you were coming but I thought she was lying because you love White Harbor and I didn't think you'd come and usually people never do what they say they're going to do like how Mother and Father and Robb and Sansa and Arya said they'd come back but they didn't but you came so that means Meera's not a liar and neither are you."

She gave his hair a gentle stroke and noticed someone had finally been able to cut it, though it was still far longer than what was normal for a nine-year old boy. He unwound his arms from around her and took one of her hands in his and practically dragged her over to the table that his elder brother had started to mention.

"You get to sit here because I trust you and Bran says we need people we can trust and I said you were one we could so you get to be close to us." Rickon said with an air of finality in his voice. "Also Shaggy doesn't like many people but he likes you and he likes the Greatjon so that's why he's here too."

"Where is Shaggy?" Wylla asked, allowing the boy to eagerly push her into the seat.

"Bran says the wolves make some people uncomfortable so they're in the gallery." A scowl made its way onto his face. "I don't care if they're scared of them but Bran says good lords must consider their peoples' feelings too."

"He is very wise to say so." Wylla said. Rickon shrugged and appeared to be prepared to launch into another tirade when a voice cut across him.

"Rickon, I'm sure the Lady Manderly would like to be able to sit without you bothering her."

Wylla gave a tiny start; she had not noticed him approaching. The Lord Stark sat in a wheeled chair (which she knew to be modeled after her Grandfather's) and the Lady  
Reed stood behind him. Rickon frowned at his older brother. "I'm not bothering her! Am I, Wylla?"

"Not at all." Wylla said politely. For this she earned another ferocious grin from Rickon, a wry look from Lady Reed, and an amused smile from Lord Stark.

"Nonetheless, I must speak to her about this council. Why don't you go check on Shaggydog and Summer?" He suggested. The younger Stark's face lit up and he exclaimed something in the Old Tongue. Lord Stark chuckled and answered him. Wylla looked back and forth between them, confused.

"Don't worry, they aren't saying anything about you." Lady Reed whispered conspiratorially.

"Can you really understand them?" Wylla asked, amazed. She only knew it was the Old Tongue because it had been all that Rickon would speak when he first returned from Skagos and the wildling woman Osha had had to translate for him.

"A little. But I cannot speak a lick of the Old Tongue." Lady Reed said. "It's quite funny to watch the lords' faces contort when they have a long conversation in it and not one of them knows what's being said."

Wylla peered around her and noticed that it was indeed true; most of the lords near enough to make out the conversation were grumbling, obviously frustrated at not being able to understand what was being said little more than 5 feet from them. With one last exclamation, Rickon darted from the room.

"I apologize for my brother's rather enthusiastic greeting of you, my lady. Ever since your grandfather sent the news that you were to be coming in his stead he has been rather excited."

"I'm happy to see him too, my lord." Wylla said, cheeks heating as a doubtful look crossed his face. "Truly, I am. I was fond of him when he was in White Harbor."

"I think you're the only one who would say so." Lord Stark leaned forward, a pensive look on his face. "Even many people here in Winterfell cringe when he approaches them and yet you welcome him with a smile and a gentle touch. Why is that, my lady?"

Wylla’s brow knit together in confusion. "It is not his fault he is wild. Skagos is not a place to be trifled with. Any child would become wild after spending time there. The Gods are merciful indeed to have kept him as sweet as he is; the ferocity he displays was a necessity to keep himself alive. The other Lords and people of Winterfell should be thankful that he has returned to them at all. Many a grown man has gone to the Stone Isle and never returned; the fact that a small boy did is nearly a miracle."

"You're loyal to him." Lady Reed said. "Even though he's as unpredictable as the wind and as sweet as a tart lemon-cake. Why?"

"Because he needs someone to be loyal to him. Because he is just a boy, noble house and ancestry aside. But also because he is a Stark, and they took my ancestors in when no one else would, which would make it high time that a Manderly repaid the favor. And because your family has suffered enough without people adding prejudice against a damaged child to the long list of abuses laid against you."

Lady Reed and Lord Stark exchanged a look. He leaned forward in his chair, finally looking like the fourteen-year old boy that he was, an eager smile upon his face.  
"I see now why Rickon likes you so much. My brother has no patience for simpering or glossing of the truth; honesty and bluntness are the best ways to reach him. You certainly have both traits in abundance."

Wylla blushed again and opened her mouth to protest, but was quickly shushed by a gentle motion from Lady Reed.

"You're embarrassing her, Bran."

It was Lord Stark's—Bran's—turn to blush.

"Oh, please don't be embarrassed! We could use more honesty in Winterfell…it's been lacking ever since Father made the journey to King's Landing."

Did he just compare me to Eddard Stark?

While Wylla reeled with that thought, Bran continued on, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"A guard will come to your chambers at nightfall. Dinner will be in my solar tonight."

"Pardon?"

"Don't be late."

He gave her a smile before wheeling off to Lord Umber's table. Lady Reed touched Wylla's hand softly.  
"It truly was a pleasure to meet you, my lady. I'll see you at dinner."

And then she too, was gone. Wex, who had respectfully moved away during the exchange, wandered back to her side.  
He wrote: What was that about?

"I think," Wylla said, acknowledging a nod from the Greatjon and yet another wink from the Ladies Mormont, "I may have just passed some kind of test."


	2. The Dragon Queen's Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys reaches a difficult decision regarding her nephews.

THE DRAGON QUEEN

Daenerys sat in her solar, absently tracing patterns of the sunshine on the wood of her desk. She was alone—well, as alone as she could be—Ser Barristan stood at the door, ever watchful. Still, it was a rare thing for the young Queen to be free of petitioners, laws to sign, or other duties. She was grateful for it; it allowed her time to think.

After years of fighting, she finally had all she had ever dreamed of and more; her rightful title as Queen of Westeros, the love of (most of) her subjects and perhaps most wonderful of all, a family. Yes, Daenerys was no longer the last Targaryen; she had Aegon, the Mummer's Dragon who wasn't so fake after all and Jon, the product of the tryst that had cost her family the throne. She loved both of them, though Aegon was arrogant in his own righteous and well-intentioned way and Jon was far too stoic, too Stark-like and too wound up in his own pain for her taste. She knew Aegon disapproved of her ruling on her own, and Jon did not want to be in King's Landing at all, but yet they stood united. Both men knew that they were three parts of whole, as necessary to the survival of the others as water or air. They were family, the true Royal Family of Westeros. They were the Three Targaryens. Three heads of the dragon.

Like in the Houses of the Undying…Dany shook her head; trying to rid herself of the horrible images she had seen in that place. The number three seemed to haunt her every step…

Ser Barristan clearing his throat shook her from her trance, and brought her attention back to the matter she had been debating before.

Marriage.

If she chose to follow Targaryen tradition, her nephews were the most logical choices. That was their way; the way it had always been done.

Ser Barristan and Tyrion, however, had cautioned her against it.

"After the public reveal of my brother and sister's true…relationship," Tyrion had said, "I doubt the populous would be keen on another incestuous relationship, Targaryen or no."

"I agree, Your Grace." Ser Barristan murmured in his gentle voice, "And if I were you, I would not risk continuing the joining of Targaryen blood. Your father's madness has not yet been forgotten; to marry one of your nephews is to ask for rebellion. You are their Queen and they love you, but you are still a stranger to many…Prince Aegon is no more well known, and many of the common people still know Prince Jon as Lord Stark's bastard. If you must marry, you must marry a Westerosi lord and strengthen your ties to your people."

Privately, Dany agreed with her must trusted councilors. Besides, neither Jon nor Aegon incited in her lust or love the way Drogo or Daario had.

Aegon, however, had pressed her about it a few times.

"It was the practice of our family, Daenerys, to wed sister to brother; I have no living sisters and you have no living brothers, but we do have each other. It is our duty to rule. Make me your King and you will not be sorry."

She recalled the disappointment on his face—so like her own, so like Viserys'—as she gently told him, no, that that was one Targaryen practice she would not be following.

"Madness is in our blood too deep, nephew. It would do more harm than good to follow our ancestor's paths. I shall forge my own path. I urge you to do the same."

She had not felt the need to mention that she could not have children besides here dragons and the one she had borne and lost, so long ago.

"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east," Mirri Maz Durr had said, "When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before."

Her sun-and-stars. It still pained her to think of him and their son.

Rhaego.

She often tried to imagine what he would be like. He would be nearly…six? Seven? He would be beautiful, of this she is sure, and strong, like his father. The dragon-scaled creature she birthed was made that way because of the medicine woman's cruel influence and her own desperation. No, her true son, the Stallion-Who-Mounts-The-World would have been perfect. Perhaps Dothraki in every way, except the eyes…he would have her eyes, violet and so utterly Targaryen that there could be no doubt of his parentage…

"Khalessi, the half-man has returned."

Dany jumped in surprise and looked up into Irri's worried face. "Is khalessi ill? It is not good to receive visitors when one is ill; it is known."

"It is known." Echoed Jhiqui.

She managed a half-smile for them. "No, I am not ill. I was merely thinking. Has Tyrion brought word from his travels?"

"We did not see him, khalessi. Knight-of-Flowers says he has returned, and bid us to find you."

Ever since her two handmaidens had learned Ser Loras' former moniker, they had called him nothing else. She hid a smirk before rising.

"Very well. I'll receive him in the Great Hall. Ser Barristan, if you'll escort me."

"With pride, Your Grace." The old knight said, a fond smile on his face. "As always."

She picked up her crown from its silk pillow on the desk; this one was far lighter than the one she'd worn in Mereen, made of delicate silver imbued with rubies and onyx, carefully fired into the shape of a dragon that wrapped around her head. She then looped her arm through his and they exited her solar and walked towards the Great Hall.

"Irri, Jhiqui," Daenerys said, "please find Prince Aegon and Prince Jon, and tell them that Tyrion has returned. I should like for us all to hear what he has to say."

"Yes khalessi." The two said in unison, before hurrying off in their respective directions.

Ser Barristan waited until they had disappeared from view before speaking. "You know they shall not like this plan."

"I know I need not remind you I was forced to wed someone I did not know merely because my brother would do anything to hasten his way to Westeros. I was a bargaining chip, nothing more, and I would never force that life on anyone, especially my nephews. But their marriages will be useful to both our family and the kingdoms and so they must occur. They will not be forced to marry old matrons or vicious harpies. Only the most eligible and beautiful maidens will be considered. They will each have time to get to know said ladies and then make their choice." She said firmly.

"Both?" The knight's voice was surprised. "Not only Aegon?"

Dany had thought long about this; she knew that she could not have children and if she and Aegon were to marry (and if Jon were to continue on his isolated and celibate path), their line, that they had fought so hard to restore, would end.

"Aegon cannot marry me, but he must wed. I cannot force him to marry and spare Jon; that will lead to tales of favoritism and perhaps rumors of an improper relationship between us. No. If one marries, they both must."

"Have you spoken to either of them about this?" Ser Barristan reasoned, "I do not think surprise will help convince them."

"They are both intelligent, Ser. They will know this is coming. Aegon, I think, will welcome it, but Jon…he spends more time in the company of Ghost than he does any woman."

Ser Barristan fell silent. She knew his silences and could read the message in them; he did not approve.

I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and may do as I please, she thought. They both agreed that I was best suited to it; they may be princes, but they are still my subjects. They cannot protest. It would be treason, a betrayal. And I so do hate traitors…

And I suppose Ser Jorah does not count….a voice whispered in the back of her mind, sounding eerily like Quaithe's. Truth be told, she missed her bear even now, but it would be too hard to have him near her. She still could not trust him, though she had kept her promise and he was now home, ruling on Bear Island amongst his surviving nieces.

They reached the Great Hall and Dany abandoned thoughts of her old friend and paused as the court welcomed her.

"Announcing Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Khalessi of the Green Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons, and Princess of Dragonstone." The court crier yelled, his voice echoing back against the high arches.

I really must speak to him about shortening my title. Any longer and a war could be started whilst he is still welcoming me to court!

She smiled and nodded at the courtiers, who offered her genuine (or at least appearing so) smiles in return. She climbed the massive steps leading to the Iron Throne. Many a time Irri had offered to place a cushion on the throne's cold, hard seat, but Dany had refused.

None of the kings who ever sat on this throne had a cushion. I shall not be the first just because I am a woman.

Ser Barristan was taking his customary place at the base of the steps when Aegon came loping into the Hall.

"Prince Aegon Targaryen, the Sixth of His Name, Lord of Dragonstone."

Aegon acknowledged the many courtiers with charming smiles as he passed them, but when he was near enough for Dany to hear him, his grin grew wicked and he called up to her:

"You summoned me, Aunt?"

He had taken to calling her that after she had rejected him for the third time; it seemed Aegon was not accustomed to not getting something he wanted and this was his mild form of retaliation.

Dany frowned. "In this Hall you shall refer to me as 'Your Grace' or 'Queen' and nothing else, Aegon."

Aegon gave an eye roll, but nodded all the same. "Yes, yes, of course Your Grace." She gave him a flinty look for his tone and, looking chastised, he spoke in a less sarcastic voice. "Why have I been called here?"

She opened her mouth to respond when the crier cut across her, announcing:

"Prince Jon Targaryen, the First of His Name, Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks and the City Watch."

Daenerys watched as her younger nephew walked down the Hall.

Two brothers could not be more different.

Whereas Aegon sauntered into a Hall and smiled genially at everyone, Jon entered the Hall and spoke only to a few people as he made his way towards the Throne.  
Aegon was all Targaryen; silvery-blonde hair, violet eyes, and the fiery temperament of his sigil to match.

Jon was all Stark; dark of hair, grey eyes, and had the icy patience of a hunting direwolf.

Speaking of direwolves…

Ghost was at Jon's side, as he was at all times. The huge white direwolf still managed to frighten many a serving girl, but Dany had grown used to his presence.

"Daenerys." Jon said in greeting, giving a bow in her direction. She smiled back at him, ignoring Aegon's sullen look.

"You don't force him to call you Queen…" The elder brother muttered.

She sighed. For all of Aegon's wonderful traits, he really could be childish at times. She chose to ignore his mumbling and motioned them forward. They stood side-by-side, facing her.

The Silver Prince and the Black Prince.

The names whispered amongst the common people were aptly given and the girl that was tucked away inside of her delighted in the contrast between them. They made a lovely pair before her, one all silvery mornings and soft sunshine, the other deepest night and starlight. There was no denying that they were two of the most handsome men in the realm, subject to awe and adoration of many women (and possibly even a few men).

And yet I feel nothing beyond sisterly affection for them. What a pity.

Once she was sure she had their attention, she spoke.

"Ser Loras has informed me that Tyrion has returned from his journey. I thought it best we receive him together."

"Ah, so the wayward Imp returns! He makes rather fast time for one so small." Aegon chortled.

Jon bristled. He had a fondness for Tyrion and disliked when his brother so flippantly discussed him, even though Aegon had a great affection for Tyrion as well. "He has done much for us, Aegon. You should not speak of him so."

Aegon rolled his eyes skyward. "Do they not teach humor in the North? You know as well as I how much we all value Tyrion. He himself jests about his size; why shouldn't I?"

"Because it is disrespectful."

"You and your honor. Are we sure you're not all Stark?" Jon did not rise to the bait and Aegon relented. "I am sorry, brother. I shan't jest about Tyrion any longer, if it displeases you."

"Thank you." Jon's mouth moved into what was almost a grin. "Unless you mean to speak about how it is his heritage we should be questioning."

Aegon looked dumb-struck. "What do you mean? The littlest Lannister is not a Lannister?"

"How could he be? He doesn't shit gold."

Aegon roared with laughter while Jon's smirk bloomed into a full grin. Dany felt her lips twitching up into a smile; it was rare for Jon to make a joke, but when he did, it was well worth it. She hated to interrupt their mirth with unhappy news, but she knew she must tell them now or she never would.

"As amusing as it is questioning where all the gold in Casterly Rock came from is," she paused as they refocused on her, "I'm afraid that's not what I called you here to talk about."

The laughter vanished from their faces and they both regarded her with seriousness.

"Is something amiss?" Aegon asked. "Trouble in one of the Kingdoms perhaps?"

"It can't be." Jon interjected. "I received a raven from Winterfell just yesterday; Bran—Lord Stark has gathered the Northern lords and is sure they will agree to his decision to bring the North officially back into the Seven Kingdoms. The rest of the realm is quiet, merely trying to survive the winter."

"The kingdoms are peaceful. I called you here for a more…personal matter."

Both of their brows knit in confusion and Dany had to stifle a laugh at how utterly similar they looked in that moment, before Jon's face suddenly twisted in pain.

"Have you found my…cousins?"

Dany's stomach gave a sudden sorrowful swoop. The girls that Jon Snow had been raised to love and protect as sisters, Sansa and Arya Stark, were still nowhere to be found, even after years of peace. Many agreed that they were likely long dead, as Arya had not been seen since Ned Stark's death and Sansa since the demise of the horrible (and short-reigned) King Joffery I, but Jon, Bran, and Rickon still held hope for their return.

"No, Jon. I'm sorry."

He gave a sharp nod. Aegon rested his hand on his brother's back briefly before looking back to Daenerys.

"So what is it?"

Dany shifted on the uncomfortable throne, wondering just how to put such delicate news.

So, Aegon, Jon, tell me, what do you think of Margarey Tyrell? One of you may be married to her soon…don't mind the fact that two of her last three husbands have wound up dead within a year of marrying her…

Or perhaps the even more appropriate: when I was fourteen I was so desperate to keep my sun-and-stars, who, by the way, was a Dothraki horse lord who would have shit on your courtly manners and notions of honor, that I made a bargain with a witch who ended up murdering my unborn son and cursing my beloved to a half-life. Did I mention she put a curse on me too and I'm unable to have any children? So, since I cannot, you two must marry in my stead and become little more than breeding stallions?

She cleared her throat as the two brothers exchanged confused looks. Whatever gods there were—the Seven, the Old Gods, the Red God, the God of Many Faces, the Great Stallion—must have been smiling on her, for Dany was spared answering by the arrival of the Hand of the Queen.

"Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and Shield of Lannisport."

All three Targaryens turned to smile at the approaching figure.

The years had not been kind to Tyrion Lannister; on top of his already dwarfed figure, stunted legs, misshapen head, and mismatched eyes, the War of the Five Kings had robbed him of his nose, his limp had grown more pronounced as the temperature dropped, and his beard grew in with both black and blonde hair. He looked far older than his mere 31 years.

However, none of this detracted from the affection that the royal family held for him. All three trusted him above all others (at least in the political spectrum of King's Landing).

"You're looking as fair as ever, Your Grace. Is it possible for you to have gotten more beautiful while I was away?" Tyrion said, slowly hobbling up the stairs leading to the Iron Throne.

Dany laughed. "Ah, how I've missed your flattery, little lion. No one else can make charm sound as believable as you."

Tyrion smiled at their banter. By now he had reached the top of the stairs and stood beside Jon and Aegon in front of the Queen. He gave both the princes a bow.

"My Princes."

"My Lord of Lannister." Said Aegon, a smirk on his face.

"Tyrion." Jon said, returning the bow with a dip of his own.

"I trust your mission went well?" Dany asked.

Tyrion nodded, flicking his eyes at the two men beside him. "Have you told them yet?"

"Told us what?" Aegon asked.

Dany shook her head and Tyrion could not help but laugh. She shot him an icy glare and gradually he stopped laughing.

"Well then. In that case, might I suggest moving this discussion to a less public place? We wouldn't want raised voices to alarm the common people, Your Grace."

"Raised voices?" Aegon queried, his eyebrow arching. "Why would we raise our voices if the news is not bad?"

"Daenerys never said it wasn't bad news." Jon said quietly. "Only that it was not bad news about the kingdoms or my cousins."

Dany noted once again that her younger nephew was far too observant for his own good.

"Tyrion is right. We'll go to my rooms."

She rose and waited as the Hall acknowledged her before sweeping down the stairs. Ser Barristan offered her his arm without a word, and once she was sure the three men were behind her, she exited the Hall. Tyrion scurried to catch up with her.

"I was under the impression you were going to tell them the intent of my mission while I was away." He murmured in a low voice.

"Why? To give them more time to become angry about being forced to marry women they do not know?" Daenerys whispered. Tyrion shook his head, a smirk tugging on his lips.

"And the element of surprise will do…what?"

His comment echoed the conversation she and Ser Barristan had shared earlier and the fact that the two men, who were known not to particularly like each other, were sharing the same thought irritated the Queen.

"I did not ask for your help for you to question me, Tyrion." She hissed. "It is not as if I want to make them do this. In a just world, they would fall in love and marry women of their choosing, I would have my sun-and-stars and our son safely with me, and winter would only last a season, not a lifetime. But it is not a just world, my dear lion. Maidens die in the cold just as surely as men and princesses wither waiting for knights to rescue them. Life is not a song."

Tyrion's face took on a faraway look. "There once was a girl that believed the very opposite."

Daenerys, unsettled by Tyrion's sudden somber mood, put her free hand gently on his shoulder.

"And what happened to this girl?" She asked softly.

His eyes met hers. "She learned."

Ghost slid up next to Tyrion's left side and gently nudged the dwarf with his white head. His appearance reminded Dany that they were not walking unaccompanied. She looked over her shoulder at her nephews, who appeared to be in deep conversation.

Well, deep conversation meaning that Aegon was speaking rapidly in Jon's ear while he nodded from time to time. Despite the somber situation, she felt a smile pulling at her lips at Jon's exasperated expression as Aegon continued to talk.

Finally the contingent reached Daenerys' rooms. They filed in without speaking. Ser Barristan remained stationed at the door, while Tyrion and Dany sat on a bench by the window, and the two princes seated themselves in their own respective chairs. Ghost, seeming to sense Dany's discomfort, laid at her feet, giving her leg a gentle nuzzle.

His warmth made her realize how long it had been since she'd been to see her dragons and she made a mental note to do so at the earliest convenience.

Tyrion inclined his head towards her, waiting for her to begin.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "The purpose of Tyrion's trip was to find eligible maidens of noble birth and marriageable age."

There was a deafening silence before Aegon spoke.

"Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I thought that Tyrion was already married…"

Tyrion covered a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Yes, you're quite right my Prince. This dashing lord is still married to a woman that he, let alone anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms, has not seen in years…but that is beside the point."

"Which is?" Jon asked in a dangerous sounding monotone.

"It is not I that said eligible maidens are intended for." Tyrion said.

Another silence.

Jon spoke first. "No. Absolutely not."

"Jon…" Daenerys said. He turned his face away, staring into the fire. "I do not want to do this. To either of you." She said, looking back and forth between the two. "But the Targaryen line must continue. And I…there is no point for me to marry. I shall never birth a living child."

All three men looked wore expressions of extreme confusion. She sighed and closed her eyes, grateful for Ghost's comforting presence at her feet.

"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before." Oh, she was so tired of those words, tired of saying them, tired of them haunting her every step, tired of them reminding her of what she had lost, reminding her of what she would never have again. "These are the words spoken to me by a witch, who murdered my unborn child in exchange for my husband's life." Her lips twitched in a sad semblance of a smile. "She did not guarantee it would be what we consider life. True, he breathed, but he, my Drogo, my sun-and-stars, my horse-lord, my warrior, was not there. In her quest for vengeance, she cursed him to life-which-is-not-life and me to a life without children."  
Tyrion's hand covered her own and she offered him a tight smile. "So you understand now that I do this not out of spite or desire to control, but out of necessity. If you two do not marry, then our fight to regain this throne for our family will have been for naught."

Aegon remained silent for a few more seconds, sighed and then said, "Who are these eligible maidens then?"

Daenerys' attention snapped back to the elder of the two brothers. He looked back at her, his violet eyes (so like her own) completely devoid of anger or defiance. In them she only found genuine curiosity.

Perhaps it was not me as a wife he was so excited about after all, she thought, but rather the idea of being married at all.

She turned to Tyrion, who cleared his throat. "Well, there is the ever lovely Margarey Tyrell, twice widowed and once divorced. She still holds to her claim of remaining a maiden; which, when one thinks about it, could indeed be true, seeing as Renly Baratheon preferred his roses with…thorns, Joffrey was murdered before the bedding, and Tommen was scarcely more than a child at the time of their wedding. Arianne Martell, though older than both of you, is still unmarried… but she is also heir to Dorne and unlikely to want to relinquish that right. There are rumors of a bastard daughter of Littlefinger ruling in the Vale since his untimely demise…Alayne Stone, I believe."

"Three women in the entire realm to choose from? That hardly seems fair." Aegon said.

Privately, Dany agreed with him.

Tyrion sighed. "The Great Houses are largely decimated after the war. Stark, Baratheon, Arryn, Greyjoy, and yes, even House Lannister, are all decidedly lacking in available maidens."

"Must they be from the Great Houses?" Aegon asked.

"Traditionally, yes." Tyrion answered. "Every marriage of an heir of the Iron Throne has occurred to a woman of high birth."

"Are not the ladies of the Noble Houses also of high birth?" Aegon countered. "The only difference between Noble and Great Houses is that the Great ones help govern one of the Seven Kingdoms. The daughters of both of these kinds of houses must be raised under the same rules, taught the same etiquette. Would it be such a stretch to include them as well?"

Tyrion stroked his beard. "I suppose not. And considering the alternatives…Your Grace, do you agree that including the Noble Houses would be acceptable?"

Dany's eyes flickered to Jon, who still sat unmoving and unresponsive, and then back to Aegon, who looked back, intrigued. "Yes. My only concern is that there are so many of them…"

"So allow the Great Houses to choose a few from each kingdom." Aegon suggested. "The kingdoms with greater numbers of Noble houses can choose a limit of perhaps ten, the smaller kingdoms a limit of five, as befits the particular amount of Noble houses."

Aegon's proposals seemed to have roused Jon's attention. "And how would we choose from said women?" He asked, his voice as angry as Daenerys had ever heard it. "Line them up from fairest to plainest? Find out which comes from the family with the highest number of children, or how much gold their father has? Decide by how much an alliance with the kingdom they're from benefits us?"

"Jon—" Tyrion started, but Dany held up a hand. Jon turned his glare on her and she stared unflinchingly back.

"While those reasons no doubt have merit," she said, "that is not how I would have you choose."

"So we are to have some say then? Not just shuffled off to the highest bidder?" Aegon teased, obviously trying to lessen the tension. Jon did not appear amused.

"Of course you'll make your own choice." Daenerys said, giving both of them a steady look. "And in the most ideal situation, I would have you choose for love."

Jon scoffed and even Aegon looked doubtful.

She sighed, seeing that she was not going to convince them that love could be found even in arranged marriages, in marriages not originally born from passion or attraction.

They have not had a sun-and-stars. They have not had to make admiration into adoration or lust into love. They do not know what I know.

"If not for love, then for companionship. For trust. For comfort. If the idea of loving any of these women is so impossible to you, pick the one that you can care for as a friend. Passion fades, lust subsides." Tyrion interjected. "Pick the woman you will still want to speak to in thirty years. If you can find both love and friendship, then you are one of the luckier people in this world."

All three royals looked at him in surprise. Tyrion was well known for bedding anything willing with tits and had not had a consistent lover since the traitorous Shae. Aware of the curious looks he was receiving, he smirked.   
"I was young too, once. And then I was less interested in claiming what was under a woman's skirts and more interested in claiming what lay beneath her breast. Believe me when I say any kind of woman can warm your bed, but only a few can warm your heart."

There was another silence with each person—Prince, Queen, Hand, and Prince again—lost in their thoughts. Finally Aegon spoke.

"So when will this begin?"

"As soon as the ladies can be gathered and travel to King's Landing." Tyrion said.

"So it might be quite some time, if the ladies move as slowly as the women of King's Landing." Aegon quipped. Tyrion laughed and Dany could see Ser Barristan's struggle to hide a grin.

Jon muttered something under his breath, causing Daenerys to sigh.

"Cheer up, brother." Aegon said, thumping Jon on the back. "Perhaps you'll find the woman that might finally melt that icy exterior of yours."

Jon said nothing.

Stubborn as a Stark and as unyielding as a Targaryen. Brother Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark must be laughing wherever they are right now. Dany thought.

"Aegon, Tyrion, why don't you two discuss this elsewhere?" She suggested, voice smooth as silk.

Both men got the hint and quickly exited the room. Dany took Aegon's recently vacated chair to Jon's right.

"Jon." She said. He ignored her. "Look at me."

Grey eyes met violet.

"You have done everything I have ever asked of you without complaint, without question. You were the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch; duty commanded your every action and still often does. You have not spoken of any women, I have not heard any rumors of you bedding any, and rarely see you even near one. So why do you fight this so hard? If there is someone who has captured your heart, speak now! If there is someone that you love, I would see you with them. I would see you happy. I would see you smile as you did when the White Walkers were vanquished, as you did when Bran told you your true heritage."

Jon looked away from her again, face distant. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come. I said those words, Daenerys. I said them and I broke them."

"You cannot hold yourself to that oath now." She said gently, laying a hand on his arm. "You are no longer a man of the Night's Watch."

"I broke them when I still was." He muttered. "I loved a girl with hair kissed by fire, forsook all thoughts of my brothers, all notions of honor my father taught me, all loyalty for anything I had known before, for her. Ygritte."

A wildling. Unconventional, but an alliance with the wildlings could be useful, especially should any Wights make a resurgence…

"So where is this wildling woman who can make you forget your famous honor?"

As soon as she said it, she realized she had said the wrong thing. That this was not joking matter, no silly girl that had he had been infatuated over for a brief time. His eyes shot back to hers, and in them she saw the same pain that she felt whenever she heard the jingling of bells, saw a mother holding her son, or a dark-haired man riding a horse.

"Oh. Oh, Jon. Forgive me, I did not—"

"You couldn't have known." He said.

"And you don't want to marry…because of her memory?"

Jon was silent for a moment. "I don't want to marry because it would be another choice I would be making because I have to, not because I want to. But I cannot lie and say the thought of her has nothing to do with my resistance, either." She watched his hand clench and unclench as it often did when he was anxious or deep in thought. "I was so used to snow and ice, and she…she was like fire. She warmed and offered protection. She was passionate and fierce and bright and challenging. I loved her for it, loved that she was so different from the proper women I'd known all my life. But fire doesn't only do good, does it? It burns just as much as it warms, is as unforgiving as it is welcoming. She owned me, branded me as hers and hers alone. She burned me. And I'm not sure if I'll ever not be hers."

Her hand slipped into his and he managed a tight smile.

After a pause, Dany spoke.

"Perhaps someone will surprise you."

Jon quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"After Drogo died, I did not think I could ever love or want another man again. I was wrong. I was just as much a fool for the second love as I was for the first. Love is not something that can be planned or prevented. It sneaks up on you. And perhaps one of these ladies will as well."  
Jon gave a small laugh. "If I feel half of what I felt for Ygritte for one of these women, I'll marry her on the spot, alliances, duty, and honor be damned."

Daenerys smiled softly. "I would not stop you."

 

By the next week, from the Storm Lands to the Crown Lands, from the Reach to the Riverlands, from Dorne and from the Westerlands, to the North and the Vale and the Iron Islands, word of the princes seeking betrothals had sent all of Westeros into a tizzy.  
It was something to think about other than the freezing temperatures and the still healing fissures left by the war and the people, common and noble, could talk of nothing else.

For Aegon, many wanted a bride as dark as he was fair, with his same likeable charm and easy grace that so endeared him to the public. He was their Silver Prince, their white knight, who had rode into Westeros, reclaimed his family's ancestral home and had befriended and charmed them in the process. It seemed only fair that his bride be like him, something out of a song; mayhaps the recently discovered natural daughter of Petyr Baelish, who was rumored to be as beautiful as she was powerful, or maybe some mysterious noblewoman that would outshine the other, more renowned beauties and win his hand with love.

For Jon, most people assumed that he would need a fiery Southron bride, someone to melt his icy exterior and balance out his Northern stoicism; Margarey Tyrell perhaps, with all her sweetly nettled charm, or even the Queen herself, all passion and blazing eyes and a temper to match that of her dragons. However, if they had ever actually asked him his own preference, he would have told them that his desire for fire had died with Ygritte and her flame red hair on the Wall. All he wanted now was someone to soothe the burn she'd left in her wake.

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case anyone is curious, here are the ages I'm going with for this story:
> 
> THE STARKS
> 
> Sansa: Born in 286—she is now 18 years old
> 
> Arya: Born in 289—she is now 15 years old
> 
> Bran: Born in 290—he is now 14 years old
> 
> Rickon: Born in 295—he is now 9 years old
> 
> THE LANNISTERS
> 
> Jamie: Born in 266—he is now 38 years old
> 
> Tyrion: Born in 273-he is now 31 years old
> 
> Myrcella: Born in 290-she is now 14 years old
> 
> Tommen: Born in 291-he is now 13 years old
> 
> THE TARGARYENS
> 
> Aegon VI: Born in 281-he is now 23 years old
> 
> Jon: Born in 283-he is now 21 years old
> 
> Daenerys: Born in 284-she is now 20 years old
> 
> THE MARTELLS
> 
> Doran: Born in 248-he is now 56 years old
> 
> Arianne: Born in 277—she is now 27 years old
> 
> Trystane: Born in 287-he is now 17 years old
> 
> THE TYRELLS
> 
> Willas: Birth year unknown, likely one to two years older than Garlan; 28-29
> 
> Garlan: Born in 277-he is now 27 years old
> 
> Loras: Born in 282-he is now 22 years old
> 
> Margarey: Born in 283-she is now 21 years old
> 
> THE TULLYS
> 
> Edmure: Born in 273-he is now 31 years old
> 
> Roslin Frey-Tully: Born in 283-she is now 21 years old
> 
> THE MANDERLYS
> 
> Wyman (Lord Lamprey): Born in 239-he is now 65 years old
> 
> Wylis: birth year unknown, likely in his mid to late 40's
> 
> Wynafryd: Born in 280-she is now 24 years old
> 
> Wylla: Born in 284-she is now 20 years old
> 
> OTHER CHARACTERS
> 
> Brienne of Tarth: birth year unknown, likely in mid-to-late 20's
> 
> Jorah Mormont: Born in 255-he is now 49 years old
> 
> Barristan Selmy: Born in 237-he is now 67 years old
> 
> Gendry Waters: Born in 285-he is now 19 years old
> 
> Davos Seaworth: birth year unknown, likely in his mid 40's
> 
> Meera Reed: Born in 283-she is now 21 years old
> 
> Theon Greyjoy: Born in 279-he is now 25 years old
> 
> Asha Greyjoy: Born in 276-she is now 28 years old
> 
> Jeyne Poole: Birth year unknown, likely the same age as Sansa; 18
> 
> If the characters are mentioned in this list, it's because in this story they are alive or are of whereabouts unknown. If they're not mentioned, it's because I believe they'd have to be dead for this story to occur (examples include Stannis and Cersei). However, I feel as though I should warn you that just because they are on this list now does not mean they're all guaranteed to stay alive.


End file.
